The Waiting Game
by xFeedMePoisonedCandyx
Summary: Good things come to those who wait, and Bobby’s prepared to wait all night for John if he has to. Slash of the Iceman/Pyro variety. One-shot, Bobby's POV.


**Title:** The Waiting Game

**Author:** xFeedMePoisonedCandyx

**Pairings/ Characters:** BobbyxJohn, from Bobby's POV, and some BobbyxMarie. But not much, cos I don't like her --;;

**Warnings:** swearing, angst, implied and real sexual situations. Slight AU, because it works a bit better for me if Bobby actually dragged John out after the battle at Alcatraz and the two of them hung out for a little bit. But apart from that I think I've been pretty faithful.

**Summary: **Good things come to those who wait, and Bobby's prepared to wait all night for John if he has to. Slash of the Iceman/Pyro variety.

**A/N:** So I've become totally addicted to Bobby/John slash recently, and I felt like I should contribute to the goodness. They just make such a _hot_ couple *screams!*

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**The Waiting Game**

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'_Good things come to those who wait' _

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Bobby Drake is sat in his room, waiting.

It's been exactly three weeks since Alcatraz. For Bobby, it feels like a hell of a lot longer.

He still can't get over what happened that day. He fought the Brotherhood – other people who were just like him. He fought John, the person who, despite everything that had happened between them, he still considered his best friend. He _knocked John out, _and was actually going to leave him in that place. Thank God he didn't. The thought of what would have happened if John had still been there when Phoenix had appeared… it makes him even colder than usual just thinking about it.

After he'd dragged John off to safety, the two of them had both forgotten, in the brief ten minutes after John had come round, that they were technically on opposing sides, and it wasn't until Magneto had come looking for John that they actually remembered they were supposedly enemies. So they'd said their hurried goodbyes, and when Bobby had finally plucked up the courage to swallow his pride and ask John when they'd see each other again, John had sworn faithfully that he would sneak up to the school and come visit Bobby exactly three weeks from then.

Well, now it's three weeks from then, so John should be here. Of course, there's no guarantee that he'll actually show up; what John says he'll do, and what he can be bothered to do are two very different things. It wouldn't be too surprising if Bobby never saw him again. But for some strange reason, he has a feeling that John is going to keep his promise this time. He hopes he does.

The window's open, just like he asked for it to be. Bobby's a touch sceptical about just how exactly John is planning on climbing up the wall and in through the third-storey window, but he didn't question it.

They've had to be careful about meeting up like this. In hindsight, it'd probably be easier if Bobby just drove down into town and met John somewhere, but for some reason they decided to meet up here. In their old room. Bobby smiles to himself and thinks that maybe John's getting a bit sentimental.

Shame he hasn't gotten any more punctual, though. He said he'd be here by eleven. Half eleven at the latest. It's now almost one. Bobby's rational side is seriously considering giving up and going to bed. But his more honest side, the side that sounds a lot like John, knows he won't. Not while there's still a chance – however small it may be – that John is actually going to be here.

Here.

In this room.

With Bobby.

The whole situation feels almost like they've gone back in time. They're back in their old room, it's after lights out, and Bobby's girlfriend is off somewhere with Jubilee. Or she's with Kitty. Or someone. He doesn't know and to be perfectly honest he doesn't care. All he cares about right now is John.

Who's still not here.

Bobby sighs and stretches out. He's laid out on John's bed – he still thinks of it as the pyrokinetic's despite the fact he hasn't slept in it for months and months now. But this is Johnny's bed. It always has been. It even smells a little bit like him – kind of smoky and hot, like bonfires or something.

Lying there in the dark, he can't help but remember all the other times that he was in this bed after lights out. They'd turn the lights off and wait for the rest of the school to fall silent. Waiting was the hardest part. Bobby used to lie there, heart thudding away in his chest, as his ears strained to hear any movement in the other rooms. Sooner or later though, when he was positive everyone else was sleeping, he'd crawl out of his bed and make his way over to John's.

God knows why he'd done it the first time. Bobby still doesn't understand it himself. But after the first night, he was able to justify it completely. The real question became why _wouldn't _he want to spend the night in John's bed? Why wouldn't he crave those heated kisses, the feeling of John's burning fingers dancing up his sides? Why he'd gone there the first night didn't matter. All that really mattered, as John had once breathed in his ear, was what they were doing _now_.

Of course, Bobby made his excuses. Sexual frustration. Boredom. Curiosity. But they were half-hearted efforts and he knew it. The longer he spent trying to justify the hot, sticky, sleepless nights he spent in his best friend's bed, the harder it became. Sure, not being able to touch Marie was frustrating; but it wasn't as though he couldn't handle it. As a mutant surrounded by other teens just like him, he could hardly claim to be bored. And as for curiosity – well, if he was just curious, wouldn't it have been enough to try it just the once and leave it at that?

The longer he thought about it, the more fruitless his attempts at justifying his actions became, and there was a strange kind of relief in that. What they did didn't need justifying: it felt good – God, _so_ good – so they kept doing it. But Bobby still felt guilty.

After all, he had a girlfriend. Sweet, beautiful Marie, who was kind and funny and all-round perfect. That first night, he half expected to spend his time with John imagining that he was with Marie. But he didn't. And that made him feel even worse. But then John had pulled him in for another scorcher of a kiss and he'd forgotten all about his untouchable girlfriend, and thought instead about his best friend, who was currently touching him in ways that put all visions of Marie out of his head.

What they'd had between them… Bobby still isn't able to define it. It was hot and needy and dangerous, and Bobby had loved that, but it wasn't perfect. Like, he'd never let them turn on the lights. He told John it was because he was worried someone would see the light shining under the door and come investigate. John just laughed at that and said he should have figured Bobby wasn't an exhibitionist. But Bobby spotted the shadow that flickered momentarily across the fire manipulator's face, and he knew John thought that he was ashamed of what they were doing.

It wasn't like that at all. Bobby wasn't afraid of being caught fucking his best friend – although he was slightly worried about being slashed to ribbons by Wolverine if he was caught cheating on the man's pseudo-daughter. He was worried about that John might look into Bobby's eyes and see the desire that was hidden there; a desire that went beyond just lust. The unspoken rules of their little arrangement were simple – they were sleeping together, and that was it. It was a purely sexually, no-strings-attached relationship. And Bobby was certain that John's feelings towards him were strictly platonic. He slept with Bobby because he could. Bobby was the problem. Bobby slept with John because didn't want to sleep with anyone else. Ever.

As the seconds tick by, Bobby lies there, remembering all the nights – and even the occasional morning – that he spent in this bed. The burning heat off of John's skin. The way their bodies pressed flush together. The searing kisses that John would trail across his neck and down his torso. John's teeth against his collarbone. The feeling of his best friend's strong arms wrapped around his waist as he whispered into his ear for Bobby to stop moaning so loudly, that someone was bound to hear and come investigate.

Just thinking about it now is enough to make the ice mutant's body temperature rise, and for his jeans to feel just a little bit too tight. Almost unconsciously, his hands trail lightly over his chest and down towards the bulge in his pants. Eyes tightly shut, he undoes the fly on his jeans and slips a hand inside, imagining that it's not his, but Johnny's. His own hands are too cold to be John's, of course, but if he tries hard enough he can almost believe that it's really the pyrokinetic's hand; that they're just school kids again; that John's really here, stroking Bobby's aching arousal just like he did before, and his tongue's tracing the edge of Bobby's jaw line just like it used to…

'You couldn't just wait for me to get here?'

Bobby's eyes fly open as he almost falls off the bed in shock.

There, leaning against the windowsill, is John. It's almost sickening how good he looks; lean and toned, with his jeans low on his hips, a cigarette between his fingers and smoke curling out from between his slightly parted lips.

Bobby's so shocked that it really is John that, for a moment, he forgets to be embarrassed about getting caught doing _that_ whilst moaning John's name.

'So you really came in through the window?' is all he can manage to say.

John just smirks, his white teeth perfectly visible in the moonlight.

'And you thought I wouldn't be able to,' he drawls, before glancing down at Bobby's jeans, which are currently hanging half off him. His expression changes slightly, and Bobby can recognise that look anywhere.

'You really could wait for me to get here, could you Drake?' John purrs, crossing the room with an ever widening smirk on his face.

'Well... I mean, it's not _my_ fault,' Bobby whines, blushing slightly as John wraps his arms around the ice mutant's waist and pulls their bodies closer together, 'you're really late, you know.'

'I'll make it up to you,' John murmurs, his lips brushing over Bobby's throat and sending chills shooting down his spine and straight to his groin, 'I've missed you, Bobby.'

Bobby wants to tell John that he's missed him too; that he has no _idea_ just how much Bobby's missed him, but his words are cut off by those full, hot lips on his and he kind of loses his train of though from there on in.

_-end-_

Love it? Hate it? Feel like ripping out your eyes in disgust? Let me know...

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